


Non Omnis Moriar

by elendri



Category: No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elendri/pseuds/elendri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How can he be at the last stop when he can’t even remember getting on the train?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Non Omnis Moriar

His eyes open, and it takes him a moment of hazy disorientation to figure out why: the train has stopped.

The other passengers are already standing and filing off, so he stands too, tiredly running a hand across his face to wipe the remnants of sleep from his eyes. How long had he been traveling? It feels like years.

He steps off the train and mindlessly follows the herd of passengers crossing the platform. He blinks his eyes in the sunlight…and he pauses.

_Why am I here?_

Someone bumps into him from behind and murmurs an apology, but he barely registers it. He hurries out of the way, looking wildly around the platform to try to get his bearings. It’s absurd, but he can’t even remember boarding the train in the first place.

He sees a woman in a uniform standing silently before the ticket barrier, cold eyes watching the passengers flow out of the station. Unsure of what else to do, he approaches her, almost flinching when her piercing gaze latches onto his. “Yes?” she says flatly.

“Where am I?” he asks. “I’m sorry, but I fell asleep on the train. I’m not really sure where I’ve wound up.”

The complete lack of expression on her face makes him vaguely wonder if she’s human. “You’re at the last stop.”

Well, he’d gathered that much on his own, having seen every passenger on the train rise and make their way towards the exits. “Yes, but what is the last stop?” he presses.

She doesn’t even blink. “The last stop.”

This has to be the least helpful conversation he’s ever had. “Right, thanks,” he mutters anyway, moving away from her and back towards the train. Maybe he can just get back on it. It will have to take him back to where he was before, right?

“Been a long while since there’s been another of you,” says a voice to his right.

He looks around and sees an old man sitting on a bench, a worn brown cap held between his hands. He’s smiling up at him, yet his expression is still somehow sad.

“I’m sorry?”

The old man pats the bench beside him. “Come, have a seat,” he says. “What’s your name?”

He freezes in the act of walking over toward the bench. _My name? What is my name? Why can’t I remember?_

“It’ll come to you,” the old man says. “Don’t worry. It’s just a matter of time.”

He has no idea what that’s supposed to mean and is about to ask when a whisper slices through his mind. There’s something else there, but he can’t quite grasp it before it disappears again. But he has a name now. “Nezumi,” he says. “My name is Nezumi.”

“Nezumi,” the old man repeats as Nezumi sits beside him. “I am Bevan.” He lets out a wistful sigh. “And I have been here a long time.” Before Nezumi can ask where “here” is, Bevan points to the other passengers still steadily filing out of the train and streaming out of the station. “They are not like you and I,” he says. “They have no reason to remain. I couldn’t tell you why—guess they must have done and said all they needed to when they could. They can let go. But you and I…we remember. We hold on. It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes someone will refuse to go on just yet.” He squeezes the cap in his hands; Nezumi can see they’re shaking slightly. “I just can’t go on without her,” Bevan says straightforwardly.

That something else stirs again in Nezumi’s mind. _So close. What is it?_ “Her?” Nezumi asks.

Bevan watches the other passengers for a moment, blinking away tears in his eyes. “I loved her very much,” he says. “That much I remember. And that is why I cannot leave here yet. I must wait for her.” Bevan looks at Nezumi with a gentle expression. “That’s usually the way it is. When someone lingers, it is to wait for another.”

White flashes before Nezumi’s eyes. The memory teases at his senses; he swears he can almost taste something, smell something, feel something beneath his fingertips. _Nezumi._ The same whisper from before, followed by a sigh. _Who are you?_ Nezumi silently begs. Purple eyes blink up at him, crinkling in the corners with a smile. _Love you._

“Yes,” Nezumi says. “I have to wait.”

Bevan kindly pats his shoulder and turns away again, eyes back on those who cannot remember and do not mind.

Nezumi settles himself comfortably on the bench, his consciousness eagerly trailing after those vague hints of memory, greedy for more. A laugh. A quiet smile. A kiss.

_I will wait for you._


End file.
